The Anticlimax
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: There were six victims, their likeness to Nick uncanny, and he had to put an end to it. He just can't do it alone.


The moderately built man's jeans were tangled around his ankles, any underwear he might have been wearing, had he been wearing any at all, missing. Instead, blood painted his inner thighs red.

His brown, mousy head of hair was mussed, pulled and tugged in random, telling ways, as if fingers had carded through the thick strands, held, and had ripped.

The man's pale eyes stared blankly up to the black sky.

Hank fingered the bruises around the male's neck, rubber gloves on, as Nick waited for the inevitable from behind him.

"You know…" Hank started off with, getting back to his feet and signaling the coroner over, "this guy looks a lot like you." He gave Nick a once over. "Like the other three guys did."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's just our offender's M.O." He forced himself to smile, tight lips stretched over white teeth as Hanks' expression only darkened. "Doesn't mean it has any connection to me."

But, just in case, he would ask Monroe to sniff the body. One more shot. Just one more attempt.

Maybe, this time, instead of the last three times, the sexual predator would have forgotten to wear wolfsbane.

~""~

"I don't like you working on this case."

Monroe was fidgeting. Glaring. He obviously wasn't pleased and he had made no attempt to hide the fact.

Nick forced another smile. He let it drop the moment all it got him was Monroe's glowing red eyes. "Oh, come on! I already have to deal with Hank – and the Captain – don't you start on me."

Monroe's eyebrows shot up as his lips pursed. "Oh, no, you're right. That's _definitely_ way too many people worrying about your safety when a rapist slash killer is after men who look just like you."

"I'll be alright," he tried to assure. "I'm not exactly defenseless if, and this is a huge if, the perp comes after me."

"Y'know, I heard the first victim worked as a bouncer downtown. Oh, and the second one, _he_ knew how to operate any gun you put in front of him. The third guy? Um, wasn't he on parole for already killing someone when he was, like, _thirteen_?"

"So our perp happens to choose men who look just like me who can fight for themselves – that doesn't make them me. What about the last guy? He was a stay-at-home dad, didn't have a violent history, never picked up a gun or any other sort of weapon… _He_ couldn't defend himself."

"Alright. And that dismisses the first three victims… how?"

Nick groaned and leaned back into the sofa. "If this guy really wants to attack me, a police officer _and_ a Grimm, then I say, 'let him'. I'm not like the other four guys. Besides, someone needs to bring him to justice. I can't really do that if I'm hiding from him!"

He was suddenly face-to-face with a snarling, pissed off _Blutbad_, thick hair, gleaming canines, and crimson glare. Clawed hands and steely arms caged him into the corner of the couch.

"I don't want to take that chance with you!"

Nick slowed down, didn't immediately say anything back as the Big Bad Wolf that was always a large part of Monroe's psych, not even contained by chains but by lengths of yarn that looked different, stronger, through colored glass, tried to get him to back down and obey.

_Alpha_. That was what Monroe was. Or, at least, what he tried _not_ to be. But Nick knew he had a habit of making Monroe fall apart at the seams, lose that delicate control over himself, and go wild.

With the care of one approaching a… well, a _Blutbad_, Nick raised his hand, drifted it closer to Monroe's face, and gently stroked his fingertips along his brow, the bridge of his nose, over the curve of his cheek, to the edge of his fanged sneer.

With a small growl, the Wolf began to calm underneath Nick's ministrations.

After another moment, the Wolf began to fade.

Monroe stared sullenly into Nick's set features. "I don't want you to do this," he said again, voice low, unsure, _scared_.

Nick smiled for real in the first time in awhile. "I didn't expect you to. But I still need you to help me."

"Man, if I wasn't here to help you, you would have been dead by day one!" Monroe dipped his chin into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He breathed in his scent, nibbled at his jugular for some animalistic comfort, and then dropped his forehead to rest against Nick's chest, directly over his heart.

"I just don't like this case," he went on. "I mean, this sicko's wearing _wolfsbane_. There are only so many reasons why someone would wear that and I'm one of them!"

Nick carded his hands through Monroe's hair, remembered the chilling image of the last victim's disarrayed locks, and stopped. He let his arms drop around Monroe's shoulders and just hold on.

"Well, I'd wear wolfsbane too if I didn't know you and wanted the Big Bad Wolf to stay off my tail." He shrugged. "Maybe the perp is just a _wesen_ and he wears wolfsbane for the general _Blutbad_. It doesn't have to specifically block you out."

"Yeah. Right." He could practically hear Monroe roll his eyes. "Whatever."

He needed a distraction.

Hell, Nick could use a distraction.

He jerked his hips up, coming into direct contact with Monroe's thigh. The _Blutbad _shuddered as Nick's musky arousal shot through the air like a lightning bolt, and Nick smiled sweetly as Monroe leaned back to pin him with a heated, hungry look.

"Right," Nick parroted. His hands trailed down Monroe's back to tease the hem of his plaid shirt, only to claw their way back up – _just how Monroe liked it_.

And he watched Monroe give in.

~""~

"Love you," he added breathily, later that night, when oxygen was low and the pleasure was high and skin was slick with sweat and other fluids. "_Fuck_."

Monroe bit into his shoulder, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to leave one hell of a hickie that, undoubtedly, would not be ignored the next day at work. Hips thrust, flesh rubbing, hot, hot, _hot_. Thick. _Deep_.

Nick groaned into the pillow as gentler kisses were peppered over his shoulders.

Outside of their home, watching from across the street, golden eyes gleamed.

~""~

A fifth body turned up, another likeness to Nick, and the Captain was a half a reason away from putting Nick under protective custody.

"Listen, alright, I'll have protection with me." He gave both Renard and Hank his most earnest, most innocent look.

They didn't have to know that that protection would be Monroe.

The Captain turned in his chair to look blankly at Hank. "I'll go with it. For now," Renard announced.

Hank gawked at him. "But, Cap-"

Renard held up a placating hand. "We have no evidence to say that Nick is, in any way, connected to this. Therefore, we have no basis to say that this is all directed towards Nick."

Hank cursed under his breath. "Can't we assume that Nick's in danger?"

"What would you have me do for every other male brunette with pale eyes in the area? I can't give him special treatment just because he's on the force."

Hank obviously wasn't happy with that.

It could have been him cursing his way out of the Captain's office or, as Nick like to think was more telling, him throwing his fist through one of the windows before making his blue streak of an exit.

He smiled apologetically at the displeased and unamused Renard. "It's not showing yet, but I'm pregnant with his kid. It's made him _very_ protective."

Knowing he had failed to break the ice, he raced after his partner.

He had to get Monroe with him, and fast.

~""~

Hank and Monroe had an uneasy, but not volatile relationship. They knew where they each stood in the life of Nick, but Hank had no clue how Monroe had gotten where he was while Monroe was still trying to not sneer every time Hank pulled out his brand new, bright as daylight, red handkerchief for every reason he could come up with.

"I miss Juliette," Hank muttered as he helped Nick put away the dishes. He was using his handkerchief to dry. He quickly added, "I mean, I understand why she left – no one really wants to live with a cop with the shit goes down, but, you know…" He shrugged one shoulder, grimacing.

Nick pushed the scrubber a little harder to the glass plate. It was the story they had agreed upon, he and Juliette, before she had left him.

No one had to know that it was his life as a Grimm that she couldn't handle. Most likely, though, it wouldn't have been much longer till she found his life as a policeman just as cumbersome. Because, what was Grimm work but a double-shift to him?

At least he had had Monroe to turn to when she had ripped his heart open.

He just hadn't expected what had happened next. For that matter, he didn't think Monroe had expected it either.

Holly had been happy for it, though, whenever she managed to escape from the tense and awkward conditions of home ("_Doctors_," she had whispered hoarsely, still trying to remember her voice, "_keep asking me… weird things. Mommy… Mommy doesn't know me… anymore_"). She had liked how it made them a closer family, especially since they were the only two men she had been able to trust after her return home.

Then there had been Roddy. He came over sometimes, whenever the mood struck him, to argue with Nick for the joy of baiting on an authoritative figure and to play his violin against Monroe's cello, something Monroe didn't mind at all. Listening to them duet, Nick never minded either.

Through them, Roddy and Holly had met. What had begun as an untrusting, bumpy, snarling acquaintanceship had turned into, over a period of months, a solid friendship.

Roddy liked that Holly wasn't like other girls with materialistic or social values. Holly wanted what was essential and liked only people she could trust, not people who could get her places or buy her pretty things.

He even eventually got over the fact that she was a _Blutbad_ who had tried to eat him when she had first seen him. Though he was an awfully big rat to be trying to swallow whole, Holly had been up for the challenge.

Holly liked that Roddy wasn't a doctor and that he didn't ask her too many questions. He explained things to her when she couldn't understand a concept or describe a word, and he went through great pains not to spook her.

Thinking of Roddy and Holly made the pain of Juliette's abrupt departure fade away. Just in time, too.

Nick subtly dunked the cracked plate under the water just as Hank spun in his direction. "Did you hear that?"

Nick raised his eyebrows unassumingly. "Hear what?"

"Something like glass…" he followed Nick's hands down into the soapy depths of the wash water. "Nevermind." Smartly, he changed topics. "He looks goofy."

"Monroe?"

"Yeah. Kind of like a lumberjack meets nerd look."

Nick snorted. "He does look like that, doesn't he?"

Hank narrowed his eyes at him, then looked back to the bowl he was drying. "I've been wanting to ask you something for awhile now…"

"Shoot." He grinned. "Not literally, though. Monroe would _kill_ us if we fired a gun inside the kitchen." Or, at least, he'd kill Hank. Then Nick would have to shoot Monroe and Monroe would try to kill him… There was nothing pleasant about the situation.

"Hah hah, asshole. It's just… how'd you go from a beautiful, sweet lady like Juliette to a grumpy old guy like… him?" He jerked his head towards the living room. Monroe should be sitting at the couch, drinking beer and waiting for them because Nick had all but forced him to accept that it wasn't his night to clean up after dinner.

Nick frowned thoughtfully. "You know, I haven't actually thought about it. I guess we just clicked."

With Monroe's _Blutbad_ hearing, it wouldn't do to get all mushy and detailed about his love confession. Monroe was a simple guy with simple needs that needed to be filled out simply. Even if the components of his simple pleasures weren't so simple, like how his beer was brewed or where his coffee came from or how he wanted his food made, he really was easy to please.

Try too hard and he even got embarrassed.

If Nick listened hard enough, he could hear Monroe cough into his sleeve awkwardly, the shift of his body over the cushions.

Faintly, Monroe cursed him.

"Dude, I don't know what you had with Juliette," Hank was saying, pulling Nick from Monroe as he eyed him, "but I think your, er, love for him might be stronger."

That, coming from Hank, made Nick feel all the better.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He held up a handkerchief-wielding hand as Nick smirked. "No, really, don't ever mention it."

And, from outside across the street, golden eyes gleamed.

~""~

A sixth victim.

His black hair had been dyed a mousy brown and gray contacts obscured the true blue of his eyes. He had been a male hooker on the streets, features eaten away by drug abuse. His slim figure and long, elegant limbs did not match the body type of the previous five victims.

But his underwear, if he had been wearing any at all, were missing, and he had been asphyxiated, blue and purple bruises around his throat, eyes bulging out of his face and lips twisted painfully in a grimace.

What rocked the department was his I.D.: Nick B.

As if that wouldn't be enough to put him into protective custody, there was something else that really pounded the nails into his coffin. Nick's calling card had been laid on his chest, directly over his heart.

On the back of his card was a small, unusual message that hadn't appeared at all the other crime scenes:

_Don't you want me?_

_I want you._

A heart had been smeared in around the neat, even letters, proven later to be written in the man's blood from where he had anally torn.

Nick didn't even have it in him to lift his head up as he felt Hank's glare drilling into the side of his face.

"Alright… so it has a lot to do with me."

"Yeah," Hank bit off, obviously pissed past the point of no return. "Looks that way, doesn't it?"

Nick rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Monroe was not going to like this.

Not at all.

~""~

There was no connection between the victims aside from their likeness to Nick; that, and they were all adult males roughly the same age as him.

He shoved a hand through his hair, laid the profiles out in front of him, tried to connect any other dots that could help them catch this guy.

He couldn't have him out there, raping and killing men who didn't deserve it. Besides, he had altered the appearance of his latest victim – what was to stop him from going more drastic?

Nick could see it, as he had seen other crimes before. A little boy with mousy brown hair like his, but contacts had to be put in to get the eye color right. Muscle definition had already proven to be a compromise for the perp, so it wouldn't matter that the boy had barely made it into adolescence. He was a male, he could be made to look like Nick.

He shook away the thought, rounded back to where each man had been assaulted. Maybe their location had been the thing to do them in.

He got out a piece of graph paper, set down the coordinates, and watched a mess of dots appear. There was no recognizable pattern, just random spikes and curves as the perp went free to do his thing.

With a curse, Nick threw the paper at the garbage and rammed his head into the table. The momentary pain, though centering, did not help him determine the perp's logic any better.

He sat back and tapped his fingers along the table, grinding his teeth, making small motions and movements. His foot beat the ground.

_Damn it_.

But this man had to have a strategy in some way! How did he find the first five men? How did he find the last one? Hookers on the street didn't just give out their name and they had had one hell of a time figuring out what it was because, for about the same reasons, they sure as hell didn't carry an I.D. on them.

It had been premeditative. Brow hair dye, same shade as Nick's locks, had been slathered into the victim's hair. That would have taken a half hour to set in at least. The gray eye contacts, proven to be specially ordered to have the same inner designs as Nick's.

Nick closed his eyes and let his head loll on his shoulders.

Strategy. Premeditation.

He took out a different graph paper and made a new map of where each man worked.

It yielded just as much as the first map.

"I could try to help."

Halfway to his gun, the voice computed and something in his obsessed mind realized, _hey, I know this person_.

He glared at Monroe over his shoulder, heavy bags under his eyes, and sighed. "Yeah, you think so?"

Monroe grimaced at him. "You look like crap, man."

"That's weird. I feel like a killer." He rubbed his hands over his face. "These people… they're dying because of someone's fixation with me. How is that fair?"

"It really isn't." Monroe padded silently into the room and hoisted Nick out of his seat by his wrist. "You need to sleep, dude."

"I need to catch this guy." But he let himself fall into Monroe's chest all the same. Breathing him in, feeling his warmth bleeding into him, made him realize just how long it had been since his last shower and how cold he felt.

"And what do you plan to do when you find him, dead on your feet and delusional like this? Tell him he's arrested and then wait for him to put the handcuffs on himself? It's not going to go down like that, Nick, you've seen what he can do to guys at their full strength and with all the practice necessary to look out for themselves."

"Yeah, but I have something they didn't." He managed a half-smile that looked like it was slipping off his face before he could even put it there. "You."

"Well, I'm not invincible. I can't always save the day!" His arms were tight around Nick. "Don't you get it? I can't always save you, and that is what's freaking me out right now!"

Nick let the silence fall between them, thick with despair and confusion.

Then, softly, "You said you could help?"

Monroe drew in a deep, agonizing breath. "I could try to."

"What's the condition?"

"You swear to me that you don't leave my side."

"I thought we already made that promise?"

When he had been broken, hiding behind a carefree smile because no one really had to know just how much it had ripped his heart out to see Juliette leave him. By then, it had occurred to him that everyone he loved always left him… His mom, who wasn't even dead, had even left him after she had done what she had come to do.

Nick had needed someone to stay with him, _damn it_, just never leave him. And then Monroe had been there in a light that hadn't been there before…

He could practically hear Monroe roll his eyes. Again. He did that a lot.

"No, well, yes, but, not what I meant. When we do this, you have to stick by me, okay? If we corner the perp, you can't go chasing after him or else I will be chasing after _you_ and what I'll do to you when I catch up… trust me, you won't like it, and I'll never be able to look at you the same way once I come back to."

"Come back to? Are you going to do some sort of astral projection?"

"No." He sucked in a deep breath and held Nick at arm's length. "I'm going to go full _Blutbad_."

"Okay. You've done that before with me, though." In more ways than one. That had been one _hell_ of a night.

As if following the same thread of thought, Monroe's ears, nose, and cheeks tinted red. "That's not full _Blutbad_. That's like an intermediate state between Human and Beast. Every _wesen_ has three stages of being; it just depends on the culture on who's allowed to manipulate all three forms."

"Like the _Jägerbar_…" He thought back to the Roh-hatz he had the misfortune of joining. "But only their mom changed fully into a bear."

"Well, _Jägerbars_ have more of a matriarch. Only the mom is allowed to fully form, it isn't that they can't."

"How come I'm just now hearing about this?"

"Well, no _wesen_ I know would be happy to show off their full form to a Grimm. It's kind of a private thing, being one with nature and all that. More than half the time, it actually makes us weaker to Beast out. Think about it – how intimidating would _Mellifer_ be if they looked just like bees? In swarms is one thing, but all it takes is some pesticides and you're good."

"And you 'Beasting out' would do us any good… how?"

"Wolfsbane won't have any effect on me, just like it wouldn't on the average wolf."

"Then how come you haven't suggested this before?"

Monroe looked guiltily towards their feet. "It's a last resort thing. A return to the wild is a huge setback for any _weider wesen_, man, it's like, you know what? There isn't a comparison for it, it's just an all around bad idea." Before Nick could say anything, before he could come up with any self-sacrificing ideas, Monroe cupped a hand over the junction of his neck and throat, right where Monroe's mark was.

It wasn't quite a wedding ring, but it was definitely never coming off.

"But you're my mate, so I should be able to control myself around you. And I'm not taking a 'no' on this either! This is something huge for me to offer, okay? So, accept it. Simple as that."

Nick did not like the sound of this at all. "What about anyone else who comes around? Will you be able to control yourself around them?"

"If they're wearing red? Forget it, I'm gone. But if you stay close, keep your hands on me, I might be able to go against the bloodlust, at least until I can change back."

He liked the sound of that even less. "I don't think we should do it this way."

"Too bad." He steered him towards the front door, grabbing their coats on the way out. "We're doing it this way."

~""~

Nick's hands delved into thick, lush fur. In shades of brown and crème and tufts of black, the colors blended and meshed as he braided his fingers through them.

Monroe's blood red eyes watched him, a pleased growl rumbling deep in his throat, chest puffed up proudly as his tail stood high, dominant.

He twisted his long head over one sloping shoulder to lick at Nick's wrist, and then to nip it softly, just enough that a small pain shot up Nick's arm, but a mark wasn't left behind.

Nick felt like a kid in a candy store. "This is awesome."

Monroe woofed at him.

"I know, but… can I talk you into doing this later? Not for _that_!" He flushed at Monroe's widened eyes and perked ears. "I never knew you had such a dirty mind before." Then he grinned savagely. "You animal."

Monroe growled louder at him, less pleased, and then tweaked his ears away from him.

They had come to the earliest crime scene, an alleyway next to where the victim had been working. Trash gathered in heaps and a homeless man gave Monroe a bleary, uninterested look.

It had taken half of Nick's strength right then and there to keep Monroe on track, and he was glad as anything that the bum wasn't wearing any red.

The tape from their investigation was gone, not unusual. Other bodies would have traveled through here since the rape and murder, drug addicts making a deal, hits being made, bodies being beat. Bloodstains had sprouted out on the brick walls like vines and there was a distinct smell of piss and rot.

Monroe sneezed distastefully, ran his tongue over his black nose, and then got to work.

~""~

Nick was remembering what Monroe had said before he had changed.

His shirt had been hurriedly unbuttoned, drawing Nick's eyes to his hands at work.

"_Don't run from me, okay? Don't present your back to me either and, for the love of God, don't bend over."_

"_Why not?"_

Monroe had given him his infamous, are-you-really-that-stupid-? Look. _"Why not? Because you're my mate, that's 'why not'!"_

"_Okay. So…?"_

"_I'm going to want to mount you, alright?" _He had looked so cute with his face turning red. _"It's a Blutbaden thing."_

"… _But I'm human. You're going to be a wolf."_

"_Well, yeah. It's a Blutbaden thing."_

"_Wait, so Blutbaden are into bestiality?"_

"_It's not really bestiality for us. It's like, with you guys, there are races, right? Black, white, Asian, Mexican, Indian, so on, whatever – you all get down to it anyway because you're all human. Well, we're Blutbaden: human, in between, and full Beast. It's about the same difference to us."_

His shirt had been off, his undershirt too, and Nick, for how tired he had been and how desperately he had wanted to solve this case, hadn't been able to look away as Monroe's hard-earned figure was uncovered, piece by piece.

"_So I'm the weirdo for thinking that's… freaky." _Then again, his ex-girlfriend had been a vet. Taking her patients home with him had not, and still didn't, sound like an appetizing idea.

"_Yeah. You are." _His boots and socks had come off. His jeans and boxers next.

Nick had felt tired tendrils of arousal loosen him up, arousal that had made Monroe look up at him heatedly from where he had been folding his clothes.

"_Don't do that while I'm in Beast mode, got that? Or else."_

Nick understood that he had been told a lot of things in life that he hadn't followed. But he had thought he could at least follow _that_.

Except, when the scent trail happened to lead to a spot across the street from their house, and Monroe was snapping and snarling and growling at the realized danger to his territory and mate, the few things he could comprehend in his instinctive, base thoughts, Nick was willing to do just about anything.

He let go of the ruff of Monroe's neck.

The wolf took a few running steps towards their home, as if to guard it or search it or, maybe, mark it, before he realized that his mate wasn't with him. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the dark road, turned his head to glare at him over his shoulder, and snarled.

"_If I do turn on you,"_ Monroe had groaned, in the state of in between that Nick was used to, _"just lay down on your back, don't move, and don't smell like fear."_

He grinned as Monroe turned fully towards him, his snarls more definite, demanding, tail raised high like a sail as he stalked his mate.

Nick grinned. "That's a good boy… good boy…" He took a few short steps back for every stride of Monroe's four legs. And then, when Monroe threw his head back and howled, enraged, he bolted.

Right into the woods.

Coming up close behind him, he could hear Monroe hunting.

~""~

It was an experience he didn't want to ever talk about again.

But he wouldn't mind a repeat.

That was, he wouldn't mind a repeat _after_ he got his head wrapped around what he had started, the sensation of twigs and branches whacking him as he ran, the dips and stones and holes he had just barely managed to race over without tripping on.

The horror and excitement that had coursed through his veins the more and more he realized that Monroe was going to catch up to him, and he was going to mount him, even if he had to rip his clothes off with his sharp rows of teeth and wicked claws.

There had been a spike of arousal as Monroe had howled victoriously, and then a surprised cry as he had been tackled to the ground, amidst last autumn's fallen leaves and tall, green trees.

Everything that had come after that had been… wow.

Nick shifted his lower body, flinching at the twinges of pain that zapped up his spine.

Maybe he shouldn't have goaded the wolf on. He doubted getting on his hands and knees, actually voluntarily taking off his own clothes, had helped.

Especially with the mood Monroe was in now.

He couldn't even look at Nick, bringing him everything he needed and wanted and then immediately leaving the bedroom with a hunched back and shaking hands.

Nick pushed his face into the pillow enfolded in his arms. He may very well have screwed up big time.

He turned his head when he heard Monroe's nervous cough in the doorway. The _Blutbad_ seemed to find something intensely interesting about the floor that Nick couldn't make out.

"Hey, so, uh, you need anything? More pain killers? Coffee? Hungry?" He put his weight on one foot, than the other, than repeated the process.

Nick stared remorsefully at him. "Yeah, I do need something."

"Great! Er, really, great. What do you need?" Monroe was already halfway way out of sight, hand on the doorjamb, seconds away from flight.

"I'd like you to get in bed with me."

"Coffee it is, then!"

"Monroe!" Nick forced his upper body off the bed, trying to see the already missing _Blutbad_. His hands clenched in the sheets. "I'm sorry, alright?" He practically screamed it, knowing that Monroe, wherever he was in the house, had to hear him. "_I'm_ sorry! You didn't do anything wrong, you told me what to do in case of anything. I'm the one who didn't listen. Damn it, get in here!"

It felt like hours before Monroe semi-revealed himself, the door his last barrier between them as one hand came around to rest against the panels.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, you really _should_ have listened to me," Monroe grouched from where he was hiding, but it lacked conviction. "It's one thing when it's with other _wesen_, forget _Blutbad_ in particular, but you…"

He wasn't a _wesen_. He got that. Nick thought hard on it, trying to see how he could patch up the situation. It really was his fault. He had thought he had had a good reason at the time, but, now, thinking back, he sounded a petty excuse to get to try something new and forbidden.

He seemed to do that a lot with Monroe. First, their partnership. Then, their friendship. Next had come their relationship.

Nick could admit that he just wanted Monroe, whatever way he came in. He wanted all of the man, like he hadn't been able to give himself to Juliette.

"I liked it," he blurted out. He watched Monroe's nails turn to claws and rake down the door, peeling pain. "If it's normal for _wesen_, then why can't it be normal for me? You've said it yourself, I'm your mate. I think that makes me a little different from other people. Oh, and, let's not forget that I'm a Grimm too. And that I've been through worse things on the job as a homicide detective."

"Monroe," he called out softly, a tone that he knew could, and would, wheedle into Monroe's mind and drag him to him like a leash. "I want to be with you. All of you. Just like you've always been with me."

His relief was palpable when Monroe finally pulled himself into the room, still a little edgy, but meeting Nick's eyes, as if asking if what he was saying was the truth.

He grinned smarmily. "Next time, though, I think we should carry lube with us."

Monroe snorted.

It was as good a compromise as they were going to get.

~""~

There wasn't a seventh victim.

What there was, however, was a message on Nick's phone, saying that there was going to be a seventh victim if Nick didn't show up at a certain place at a certain time _alone_.

"_Leave Lassie at home,"_ purred the perp through a voice changer, deep and pixilated and untraceable. _"I just want this between us… Beautiful."_

A boy had screamed in the background.

Dial tone.

Monroe was not going to be pleased with this.

~""~

"I've been waiting for you, Beautiful."

It was a tall man, top heavy, with blonde curls and a five o'clock shadow. His golden eyes gleamed as he studied Nick from the top of his head to the tips of his toe, not missing a single thing.

There was a moment where his face morphed, giving way to a pleased, purring _Klaustreich_.

Nick glared at the _wesen_. "Where's the boy?"

"What boy?" He held up a blue iPhone. A small boy screamed when he pressed a button. "This boy? I'm sure he's safe wherever he is."

"You bastard."

"We don't have to bring my parents and their choices into this, Beautiful." He came close, closer still, till his hand nearly caressed Nick's jaw as he reached out to touch him. He fell just less than an inch short and contentedly let his hand hover there. "How have you been?"

"Oh, just great. There's this serial rapist running around killing men that look just like me and it's made me feel like a million bucks over the past two months."

"I hope so. I really wanted to make my point clear."

"Your point?"

The _Klaustreich_ took a step closer. Nick took a step back.

The perp smiled docilely. "You're mine. Not that dog's, not your partner's, not those children's. Mine, mine all alone. Only you. I'll do what I have to to get you, you've already seen that. Have you liked my power? My grace? How untraceable I am?"

A hand came smoothly around Nick's throat, thumb stroking just beneath his jaw.

He gave the perp a steely-eyed glare. "I think the part I liked most was when I brought backup."

The _Klaustreich's_ features slackened in shock and then, when a growl echoed through the warehouse, tightened into a hiss.

Too late, though. The _Klaustreich_ most likely had been ready for a _Blutbad_, for Monroe, if it was so that Nick had not listened to his conditions.

The wolf took him completely by surprise, a sleek machine of muscle and fur that surged towards the perp as if from thin air. Furious, bleeding red eyes, possessive, protective, _Mine, mine, mine! Can't have what's mine!_

Just a wolf fighting for the right to keep his mate.

But Monroe had been right about one thing: being completely Beasted out took away his edge. No thumbs, fewer attack methods, not as strong as the half-developed _Klaustreich_ that easily cut his claws into Monroe's neck, hoisted him off the ground, and threw him like he was nothing more but a baseball.

Luckily, Nick had a gun. For the first time in a long time, he felt no regret in taking the shot.

All seven of them, for each victim.

The last one was for Monroe.

~""~

"Rather anticlimactic, don't you think?" Roddy threw Nick an unimpressed look before turning back to his video game.

Monroe had, some time ago, relented and allowed Roddy to bring over a game console to play on his brand new flat screen.

Holly was on the second controller, two moves away from finishing off Roddy's character, when something about that caught her and held her in confusion. She mouthed the word to herself, _anticlimactic_, and her eyebrows drew together.

Roddy caught onto this when he managed to hit her character without any retaliation. "When something's anticlimactic, it has a really bad ending. Like, 'that was a horrible way to end the movie' sort of thing, not like 'I feel so bad for those characters'."

Holly, after another moment, finally got it and smiled thankfully at Roddy. She still wasn't much for talking, but her face lit up whenever she was happy. Then, with sweet serenity, she ripped the spine out of Roddy's character, whipped it around like a lasso, and was declared winner.

She faintly purred as Roddy threw down his controller and folded his arms over his chest.

"I let you win," he told her grumpily, but melted when she laughed.

Monroe snorted. "It didn't feel like an anticlimax to me." He held his coffee cup to his lips, wincing as the motion pulled at his sore side.

Nick stared distantly past the game. "I'm just glad it's over." His attention was drawn back to reality when a warm hand settled over his, comforting, loving.

He looked up into Monroe's brown gaze, silently asking if he was okay. He smiled tiredly.

He wasn't okay, but he was going to be. Eventually. He had his strange, makeshift family to help him along.

He stood up and went to the couch, Roddy and Holly side by side on the floor in front of it, and Monroe tensely followed, limping as he went.

Monroe flopped down against the cushions with a groan and Nick went down after him, resting against Monroe's good side. With a grunt, Monroe's arm came around his shoulders.

"Three out of four," Roddy demanded, only to Holly's pursed-lipped delight.

"Okay," she whispered, eyes flashing dangerously red. "You're on." A hint of fang was revealed.

Roddy smirked. "Teams this time. Nick's on my side."

The joy left her.

They all knew that Monroe couldn't play a video game to save his life, and even Monroe gave Holly a pitiful look.

Nick grinned. "I have a better idea. Monroe's with me and you two play together."

Roddy's smirk grew and Holly's expression lit up once more.

"You must really love to lose," Roddy taunted.

"Nah, that's not it." He patted Monroe's belly lightly. "We just happen to make a really good team."

They lost three times in a row.

Nick still suspected that Holly and Roddy let them win the fourth.

~""~

_Author's Note: My first Grimm story! It is a bit anticlimactic, though… I need to try my hand more often at Crime. _


End file.
